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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28721496">mnemosyne</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cacowhistle/pseuds/cacowhistle'>cacowhistle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>ad astra per aspera [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Hurt/Comfort, Plot, fuck dude i just. im in a resurrection mood. canon's got me feeling things, no beta we die like ghostbur hopefully will soon, resurrection fic babey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:15:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,450</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28721496</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cacowhistle/pseuds/cacowhistle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>From the river of memory, he rises.</p><p>Wilbur wakes up in the snow. It's the start of a new beginning.</p><p>can be read as a standalone fic.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>ad astra per aspera [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060727</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>603</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>mnemosyne</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s cold when he wakes up.</p><p>More accurately, he is cold. He’s cold, and shivering, and laying in the snow. That will do it to you, he supposes, squinting up at the grey, cloudy sky. A hand comes into view, clawed and careful. Wilbur reaches up to take it, mind sputtering, waking up as the rest of Technoblade comes into view.</p><p>He’s pulled to his feet and he shakes the snow off like a dog shaking off persistent water, ridding himself of the remnants of the ice-cold river of oblivion that has weighed him down.</p><p>As his eyes adjust to the scene, Wilbur’s mind is clearer than it’s been in weeks.</p><p>He breathes in.</p><p>Breathes out.</p><p>He’s alive.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Deep breaths, Wilbur. He’s going to be glad to see you.</em>
</p><p>(He clutches to Techno’s sleeve in the hallway, trembling from head to toe, <em>what if he hates me? What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if it all goes wrong again? </em>Techno pulls him in for an embrace, does his best to reassure, and yet Wilbur cannot shake the fear.)</p><p>Knocking on the doorframe and leaning his head through the door, Wilbur forces his shoulders to relax.</p><p>“Tommy,” he breathes--it’s supposed to come out like an inquiry. Instead, it comes out like something akin to a prayer--hopeful and mournful all at once.</p><p>Tommy stares back at him, eyes wide.</p><p>None of it feels real.</p><p>“Hey,” Wilbur manages to croak out before he’s practically being tackled, Tommy wrapping his arms tight around his waist, burying his face in Wilbur’s chest. He curls around the boy on instinct, lifting one hand to his back and the other to his hair.</p><p>Tommy is solid and warm beneath his hands, and Wilbur breathes in and breathes out and is <em>alive.</em></p><p>“I missed you,” Tommy rasps. Wilbur’s grip tightens, and his eyes begin to brim with tears.</p><p>He’s been nothing but numb since he woke up, truth be told. He remembers vague things from when he was dead--he’ll have to sit down and properly think through it all later, when he isn’t so tired, but if there’s anything he remembers with clarity, it’s Tommy.</p><p>Tommy, who’s quieter now, softer and sadder than the boy Wilbur remembers.</p><p>“God,” he says, burying his face in Tommy’s hair, “I missed you too.”</p>
<hr/><p>Wilbur wakes to find himself tangled up in blankets and limbs, Tommy tucked under his chin and Techno with an arm thrown over both of them. It’s warm and comfortable, and he decides he can stay here a bit longer, even if Tommy’s elbow is digging into his side and Techno’s hair is on his face. He hasn’t felt this warm in ages, and he relishes in it, the simple warmth that comes with living.</p><p>He shifts a tiny bit so that he can properly see the room around him. They’d been up late last night, the four of them around the fire. There hadn’t been much talking, just a little bit of getting Wilbur up to speed on the current state of things--and an awful lot of laying on top of each other. Tommy refused to move from his side from the moment they’d sat down.</p><p>It’d been a bit overwhelming last night. Now, it’s just endearing.</p><p>Wilbur can’t imagine ever letting him go. His hold tightens a bit, arms wrapped around Tommy’s waist. His gaze roams about the room, settles on Phil in the doorway, watching the three of them with a particularly fond expression.</p><p>“Morning,” he says, softly. Wilbur hums in response.</p><p>Phil crosses to sit beside their little pile, hand reaching out to card through Wilbur’s hair. He leans into it, sighing contently as his fingers gently scratch his scalp. It’s the gentle pleasures he didn’t realize he missed, the soft and sweet moments with those he loves that make him regret ever begging Phil to do what he did. He wants to say so many things--there are dozens of apologies on the tip of his tongue, a million things he could say, <em>should </em>say. So many regrets he wants to let pour out of him. He opens his mouth, but the words don’t come, and he’s just so <em>tired.</em></p><p>Phil’s smile turns sad. “No need to get up yet, mate,” he murmurs. Wilbur relaxes into the touch as Phil continues playing with his hair. “Get as much rest as you need.”</p><p>Wilbur hums again, some sort of noise of agreement, letting his eyes drift closed as he buries his face in Tommy’s hair.</p><p>A little while longer won’t hurt.</p><p>He’s proven right when he wakes up later, still tangled in blankets (and Tommy), though Techno’s freed himself from their little pile, it seems. This theory is proven correct as Wilbur strains his ears, picks up on the murmuring from the kitchen and the faint whistle of the kettle. That’s probably what woke him, then.</p><p>Tommy is still curled close to him, eyes squeezed shut and hands clutching to Wilbur’s sweater. It reminds him of nights long past, their revolutionary days, when Tommy would crawl to his bedside in the night after a nightmare, and Wilbur would sing him to sleep. Little rituals that lasted until their shared exile, memories of warm summer nights under the stars and cozy pockets of comfort in Wilbur’s room in the Empire. Wilbur breathes in, face still buried in Tommy’s hair, and remembers where he is.</p><p>So many things have changed. So many haven’t, at the same time.</p><p>“Tommy?” He murmurs, ducking his head a bit to try and see his face.</p><p>Tommy’s eyes are still closed. He seems… tense, and Wilbur recognizes the tell-tale signs of anxiety in his expression. Gently, remembering what Techno whispered to him in the hallway yesterday before Wilbur had gone to see Tommy for the first time since waking up, he tugs his hands away, begins disentangling the two of them.</p><p>He does not expect Tommy’s grip to tighten the way it does. Almost desperately, he curls into Wilbur’s sweater, a soft whine rising from the back of his throat.</p><p>Wilbur freezes where he sits, slowly letting his arms settle around him again. There’s something so achingly soft about the whole thing, and Wilbur almost regrets having to wake him up--he really needs to take a piss.</p><p>“Tommy,” he says, a bit louder this time, “c’mon, we gotta get up at some point.”</p><p>Tommy whines again, sounding less like a scared child and more like Tommy, though the two are one in the same. Wilbur can’t help how he smiles at that, adoring and affectionate as he cradles the kid close. He’s missed this, missed the softer moments of life. He doesn’t remember the last time he got to be this open, this gentle.</p><p>“Get up, you gremlin child,” he finally says, shaking Tommy off of him. He hits the ground with a yelp, and Wilbur lets out a bark of laughter.</p><p>Tommy buries himself in the blankets further. “Fuck you,” he mumbles, and Wilbur reaches out to ruffle his hair as he gets to his feet.</p><p>He pads into the kitchen, a blanket still drawn over his shoulders, and he hears the unsteady steps of Tommy behind him as he settles into a chair at the table. Techno and Phil are stood by the counter, Phil nursing a cup of coffee and Techno beginning to make a third one as Wilbur enters the room.</p><p>“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Phil says, looking rather amused. Wilbur just yawns and flips him off, earning a snort of laughter from Techno.</p><p>He doesn’t particularly care for coffee, but he takes it regardless, letting the mug warm his fingers. It’s the simple things, the simple <em>warmth </em>that gets him. He hasn’t gotten to feel this way in so long, so he relishes in it, closing his eyes and savoring the heat against his hands, the comforter draped over his shoulders.</p><p>When he opens his eyes again, Tommy is sinking into a chair at the table, and Techno is beginning to get things out for breakfast. Wilbur eyes a notebook sitting on the far end of the table, and reaches for it--there’s what looks like his own handwriting on it, a bit smudged in places.</p><p>Ah. This was to write memories down in. When he was… well. He doesn’t need to think too much about that.</p><p>He should work through what he remembers, though. That would be a good idea.</p><p>“So,” he starts, glancing up at the other three, “I remember all the stuff from before I died. But I remember stuff from after it, too, I just--it’s kinda fuzzy.”</p><p>Phil nods, slowly. Tommy looks down, picking at the table.</p><p>“Just take it slow, Wil. Go through things one at a time.” Phil offers him a gentle, patient smile, and Wilbur manages a weak one in return.</p><p>He begins to write things down, half recording things he can recall, half just doodling in the margins of his notes. He’s all the way up to the day before Tommy’s exile when several things begin to slot into place very quickly, and he freezes, quill hovering over the surface of the notebook.</p><p>Phil and Techno, who have since gotten to work on cooking, glance over, alarmed.</p><p>“You okay?” Techno starts, but Wilbur’s feathers are ruffling and he glares up with slitted pupils.</p><p>“Dream.” Tommy becomes very interested in the table, at that, shoulders tensing. “I just--remembered the shit he did. I--that <em>motherfucker</em>--<em>”</em></p><p>He forces himself to take a deep breath. Now isn’t the time. He reaches for Tommy’s hand, ducks his head to try and meet his gaze. Tommy glances up, unusually quiet. Wilbur tries to smile, though it doesn’t quite meet his eyes.</p><p>“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” he murmurs, squeezing Tommy’s hand. “I promise. It’ll never happen again.”</p><p>Tommy somehow manages to smile back. “... thanks, Wil.”</p><p>He ruffles his hair, earning an undignified yelp from the kid, who proceeds to shove him hard enough to make him fall off his chair with a shriek. The kitchen devolves into laughter, Techno barely hiding his smile as he steps around Wilbur on the floor to set plates on the table.</p><p>“We can’t take you two <em>anywhere</em>,” Phil says in mock exasperation.</p><p>“Nope,” Tommy says.</p><p>“Absolutely not,” Wilbur says at the same time.</p><p>Anger pushed aside, Wilbur stares up at the ceiling and grins. Maybe, just maybe, things will begin to be okay.</p>
<hr/><p>He finally, properly meets Ranboo that afternoon. He’s visiting from L’manburg, and Wilbur and Tommy are outside playing with the dogs when he arrives. Tommy all but trips over one of the dogs, falling over into the snow, and Wilbur is in the middle of cackling at him and taking the piss out of him when he hears footsteps in the snow.</p><p>“Ranboo!” Tommy calls, sitting up a bit. Wilbur struggles to get his hysterics under control, still giggling and wiping tears away.</p><p>“Oh, fuck,” he says, “hey.”</p><p>Ranboo is staring at the two of them, eyebrows raised as Tommy continues to be buried under a surprising amount of dogs who have seized the chance to pile on top of him now that he’s fallen into the snow. Wilbur can’t stifle his laughter as another one practically tackles his head.</p><p>“Uh, hi,” Ranboo says, leaning down to pick up the dog that has seated itself directly on the back of Tommy’s neck. “Are you like… good?”</p><p>“Yes.” Tommy deadpans, though the effect is diminished by the fact that he’s half-buried in snow and dogs, and his face is being pressed into said snow.</p><p>“The dogs probably piss there, Tommy,” Wilbur says, and Tommy groans.</p><p>“He’ll be fine,” Ranboo says, flippant as he dumps the dog onto Tommy’s back.</p><p>Attention turned to each other now, Ranboo decides to state the obvious. “... so you’re alive now?”</p><p>Wilbur shrugs. “I mean, I’m not dead, am I?”</p><p>“That depends on your definition of it, I guess? Maybe you’re undead. You could be a zombie now.” Ranboo leans against the side of the doghouse. “If you’re gonna eat anyone, eat Tommy.”</p><p>Wilbur laughs as Tommy shouts something that sounds like <em>fuck you, </em>only muffled by about ten dogs. He finally manages to fight his way out of the little pile, and immediately chucks a snowball at Ranboo, who promptly teleports out of the way. The snow scatters across the wood.</p><p>“Oh, that’s cheating,” Tommy pouts, just as a snowball hits the back of his head.</p><p>He yelps, almost pitching forward into the snow again. But then he’s gathering more snow, and he’s grinning, and Wilbur sees the fire in his eyes that means--</p><p>“This is war!” Tommy shouts, and chucks a snowball at Wilbur.</p><p>“Why are you attacking me!?” He cries, shrill and filled with mock hurt. He begins gathering his own snow, ducking out of the way as Ranboo throws one.</p><p>“War waits for no man!” Tommy calls as he scrambles around the side of the doghouse. Wilbur skitters backwards, trying to find cover.</p><p>It’s only a matter of seconds before Tommy’s on top of the doghouse, somehow, preparing to launch snow at Wilbur again. He manages to spot him, this time, and does the only thing he can think of.</p><p>“Throw it at Ranboo instead!” He practically shrieks, voice sweet and musical as the magic of Eden works its way through his words.</p><p>Tommy pivots without pause, throwing it at Ranboo instead--before promptly turning around and throwing another one at Wilbur. It hits its mark.</p><p>“That was <em>also </em>cheating!” Tommy shouts down at him, and Wilbur just laughs.</p><p>There are two sets of rushed footsteps coming from around the house. “Why are you guys shouting?”</p><p>Phil and Techno, judging by the fact that it’s two people that round the corner.</p><p>The three of them are in tune with each other, it seems, because the moment they come into view, the two of them are being pelted by snowballs from three different directions. Phil lets out an undignified yelp, Techno gets hit in the face by Tommy, and as he wipes the snow away and slowly looks up to meet Tommy’s gaze, Wilbur knows for sure that this is war.</p><p>“I’ve got the high ground, bitch!” Tommy crows, but then Techno is throwing snowballs faster than someone should be <em>able </em>to, and Wilbur hears the <em>oh fuck </em>as Tommy backpedals and ducks down low on the roof for cover.</p><p>It’s a mess of snow flying across the yard, the dogs chasing after it, Techno landing most of his shots and Tommy landing all of his, Philza scooping Wilbur up from under the arms and taking to the air to rain Hell down upon them, Ranboo teleporting sporadically and eventually teaming up with Tommy and Techno to take Phil (and Wilbur by extension) down. It’s light and fun and the happiest he’s been in months, here outside this little cottage in the snow.</p><p>By the time they’re done, muscles aching and fingers and faces freezing, breathing hard and crowding into the warmth of the house, Wilbur’s fairly certain he knows what it means to feel alive, again.</p>
<hr/><p>“I just don’t know what to do or--or how to <em>feel </em>about it,” Wilbur says, miserably, staring down into his hot chocolate.</p><p>Techno hums sympathetically, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Wilbur leans against his side, relishing the warmth that comes from that simple action.</p><p>“Because I--” he shakes his head, “I wanted it gone, Techno, but--but then I rebuilt it, and I didn’t--I didn’t <em>really </em>want it to… it went to shit, Techno, the whole thing--it was just supposed to be a community. Not a movement. Not--I don’t know.”</p><p>Wilbur sets his mug down, buries his face in his hands. “It’s not L’manburg anymore.”</p><p>Techno rubs his back, gently. “You know how I feel about it, at least. All governments end up corrupt, and should be stopped before they can even get started.”</p><p>“You used to rule an empire,” Wilbur says, bitterly. Techno nods.</p><p>“I did. But I don’t now. Neither of us do. Phil left it to Pete. He came here for us, Wilbur. It’s…” Techno pauses. “... at the end of the day, <em>I can’t tell you how to feel about it. </em>You have to make that decision on your own. You know my piece, you’ve heard me say it. You know my goals. But you don’t have to follow my lead, if it’s not what you want.”</p><p>“I want it gone,” Wilbur says, mournful. “But not like that.”</p><p>Techno raises an eyebrow. “Did you have any other ideas?”</p><p>“Could dismantle it from the inside. That’s all I’ve got.”</p><p>“You’d have to get back on the inside.”</p><p>Wilbur pauses, thinking. A realization strikes, and he sits up a bit. “... maybe not.”</p><p>Technoblade sighs. “... whatever you need, Wil, I’ll do it. But if whatever you’re planning doesn’t work…”</p><p>“It will,” Wilbur insists. “I just need to talk to Tubbo.”</p><p>There is a long pause. Wilbur is afraid for a moment that Techno will say no, that he’ll move forward with the withers that Tommy whispered to him about in the basement one night, fearful and panicked after waking up from a nightmare.</p><p>But then he nods.</p><p>“Okay,” he says, and Wilbur breathes a sigh of relief.</p><p>Slowly, he begins to form a plan.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Who are you?</em>
</p><p>He isn’t sure, in all honesty, staring at his reflection in the mirror. It’s him, by all means--his face, not ghostly and pale, but warm and filled with life. There is no blood staining his sweater, underneath the coat he stole back from Tommy--more like Tommy gave it back to him, after washing it and patching it up so it looks newer than it did before Pogtopia. The sleeves and body are adorned with patches, and it feels so much warmer, so much <em>kinder </em>than it did during his exile.</p><p>He’ll get a new one soon, he’s sure. The bad memories that taint this coat will only hurt more, in the long run. But it works for now, and it’s warm and cozy and comforting.</p><p>It’s still an echo of those times, though, where he thought of nothing but smoke and explosions, of giddy anticipation and preparation for war, for revolution, for his day of reckoning. The day he’d show everyone just why they shouldn’t believe in fickle causes like freedom.</p><p>He doesn’t know what he believes in, anymore. Staring at this gaunt, thrice-dead face in the mirror that’s supposed to be his, he tries to figure it out and he doesn’t know who he is, where he stands, what he stands for. He built a nation and now wants to tear it down again. He feels like a kid kicking down other kids’ block towers, except the tower was entirely of his own making, passed through dozens of hands that are not his own.</p><p>Wilbur doesn’t know what to do. He wants to be the good Wilbur again--the revolutionary, the father, the strong older brother, responsible and reliable and unafraid of the world. He just doesn’t know how, or even if he can.</p><p>Burying his face in his hands, tugging fingers through his hair, he tries to hold back the tears, and fails to figure out what it means to be Wilbur.</p>
<hr/><p>The kitchen is quiet this evening, the gentle light of the sunset drifting through the slits between the shuttered windows. The room is lit by the light of the fire and the lanterns adorning the walls, and Wilbur sits hunched over in one of the old, sturdy chairs, mug in hands and his coat bundled tight about his shoulders. He’s tired, and he’s just had an awfully good cry, and Phil’s just refilled both of their mugs of hot chocolate.</p><p>He isn’t even sure why he’d cried. He’d just sat down, exhausted, and a mug had been pushed into his hands, and something inside of him broke.</p><p>Phil hadn’t even questioned it--he’d been gentle and reassuring and had gathered him into his arms and let him weep. Thousands of things have gone unsaid between them, things that don’t need to be said, things that are said in the way Phil holds him close, like he’s afraid Wilbur will disappear.</p><p>Sometimes, he almost wants to.</p><p>Coming back did not get rid of that desire.</p><p>He curls in on himself further, closes his eyes, and breathes. Phil’s hand comes to rest on his back, rubbing circles there, an attempt at comfort.</p><p>“Why’d you bring me back?” He whispers, lifting one hand to cover his mouth as if blood is about to come pouring out. His chest <em>hurts, </em>the scar burns, but not as much as the way Phil freezes at the question.</p><p>“... Wil,” he murmurs, and Wilbur just shakes his head, making a wounded little noise that can only be described as a whimper.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he gasps, “I’m sorry for making you do any of it.”</p><p>Phil shushes him, softly, shakes his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.”</p><p>“I didn’t <em>ask</em> you to,” Wilbur croaks through tears, “I just--I don’t--Phil, it hurts, I don’t know how to make it stop hurting.”</p><p>He turns to bury his face in Phil’s shoulder. “I just want to stop hurting.”</p><p>Phil hums sympathetically, expression pained as he shifts to take hold on Wilbur’s hands. “We’ll make it better, Wil. We’re gonna fix what went wrong.”</p><p>Wilbur sniffs, clutching to Phil’s sleeve. “... I’m so tired, Phil, all--all the time.”</p><p>Arms come around to pull him in close, and Wilbur lets himself be held.</p><p>“I know,” Phil murmurs, “I know.”</p>
<hr/><p>There’s the gentle crackle of the fireplace as Wilbur enters the cabin, already prepared for him by Tommy, it seems, who’s currently poking at it with a twig. It’s a little anxiety-inducing, but he trusts Tommy not to hurt himself, at the very least.</p><p>“Are you trying to set the house on fire?” Wilbur asks, taking off his coat, his gloves, his boots, setting them by the fire to dry. Tommy jumps, twig dropping into the flames.</p><p>“No,” he says. “Sorry, I won’t do it again.” It’s normal, but incredibly un-Tommy-like at the same time. Was he always so jumpy?</p><p>He remembers accusatory words, spat with fire and vitriol from the mouth of a masked tyrant, and comes to a realization. Tommy is staring at him, not very subtle with it, though he tries to be. Wilbur meets his gaze and smiles, soft and gentle, trying his best to prove that Tommy doesn’t need to tiptoe around him.</p><p>“Hey, c’mere,” he says, sitting down by the fire. “You warmed up that water, yeah?”</p><p>Tommy nods, grabbing the bucket from the floor beside the fire. Wilbur holds a hand over it for a moment, then sticks it in--it’ll do. It’s a bit hotter than he expected, but not harmful. “Can you get me a cloth, or something?”</p><p>“Get it yourself,” Tommy pouts, but he’s already reaching for one hanging on the wall by the counter and bringing it over.</p><p>Wilbur pulls his sweater over his head, ruffling his feathers as he does so. It’s colder without it, so he shifts closer to the fire before he begins to preen. He runs his fingers through his feathers where he can reach a few times, first, taking care of the ones on his arms and shoulders. Then, he begins to rinse them down with the water.</p><p>“Can you help me get the back?” Wilbur asks, and he hears Tommy inhale, sharply.</p><p>He’s extending an olive branch with this request. A show of trust and forgiveness and remorse all in one--he is trusting Tommy with a very important part of him that few get to see. Phil and Techno are the only other two to help him preen--damage to the feathers leads to damage to his power, potentially to his voice. It is all tied together, and so trusting someone with this task is akin to trusting them with his very soul.</p><p>Tommy settles behind him. “I don’t--I’ve never done this before.”</p><p>“Just run your hands through ‘em a few times, straighten them out. If there are like, bugs or anything, get rid of those.”</p><p>He can practically see Tommy’s nose wrinkle with disgust simply through the tone of his voice. “That’s fucking disgusting.”</p><p>“Happens to the best of us,” he says, grinning.</p><p>“It really doesn’t,” Tommy argues, beginning to work through the feathers.</p><p>“What, you don’t get like, ticks and shit?”</p><p>“Not out here?” Tommy pauses. “It’s too fuckin’ cold for bugs out here, Wilbur.”</p><p>“I saw a spider in your blankets this morning,” Wilbur retorts.</p><p>“... I’m never sleeping down there again.”</p><p>Wilbur laughs, and Tommy breaks after a few moments as well. It’s warm, and Wilbur feels safe, something akin to a purr rumbling with magic in his chest as Tommy finishes straightening out the feathers on his back.</p><p>“Thank you.” Wilbur ruffles his feathers again, letting them settle. “You’re a good kid, you know that?”</p><p>Tommy doesn’t snort or laugh like Wilbur expects him to. Doesn’t even say <em>yeah, I do, </em>like he typically would. He just smiles, knocking their shoulders together. Wilbur pulls his sweater back on, raising his eyebrows.</p><p>“Thanks, Wil,” Tommy murmurs.</p><p>Wilbur looks down, hands twisting into the hem of his sweater. “... and I’m sorry if I--if I ever did or said anything to make you think otherwise.”</p><p>He hears the unsteady inhale, justifications and protests on the tip of the boy’s tongue.</p><p>“I know what I did, Tommy,” he says, voice soft. “And you don’t have to forgive me for anything. But just know I’m sorry for it.”</p><p>There’s a few tense moments where Wilbur thinks Tommy might not say anything. But then, a quiet: “Okay.”</p><p>Louder, Tommy clears his throat. “Stop being all touchy-feely and shit.”</p><p>Wilbur grins, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer to his side. “You love me,” he whines, and Tommy groans.</p><p>It’s a bit of a mess, but Wilbur is warm and content and his chest feels light as they mess around. They prepare dinner for when Phil and Techno get home, and while they aren’t too good at it, it’s enough for them. It reminds him of simpler times, where they didn’t have to worry about anything but survival, nights spent in the woods under the stars as they made the trek to the SMP or back to the Empire.</p><p>So many things have changed, and so many haven’t. They are still together, and for now that is enough.</p>
<hr/><p>To say Wilbur is surprised when Tubbo shows up is an understatement.</p><p>It’s a particularly nice day out, the sun just barely beginning to set, and Wilbur and Tommy are out feeding the dogs when Wilbur’s ears twitch, picking up sets of footsteps. Techno and Phil had been out all day, and were supposedly coming back with Ranboo--Wilbur’s grown quite fond of the kid, truth be told. He’s far more polite than just about everyone else on the SMP, and he gets on well with the little family they’ve built out in these woods.</p><p>There is an extra set of footsteps, tonight, and Wilbur is immediately on the alert.</p><p>Tommy glances his way, eyebrows raising when he sees Wilbur freeze in the middle of feeding some of the dogs. “Wil?”</p><p>“Quiet,” he murmurs, straightening up and gazing out in the direction of the Nether portal. He can’t see anyone yet, view blocked by the house, but then he hears Techno’s voice and relaxes. A group rounds the corner, then:</p><p>“... Tubbo?”</p><p>Any chattering drops off into silence. Tommy is frozen in place, eyes wide from across the clearing. Tubbo stares back, breath hitching and eyes brimming with tears.</p><p>They sprint to each other like their lives depend on it, Tommy sweeping Tubbo up into a hug, clinging to him so tightly Wilbur’s afraid he might accidentally hurt the kid. He shifts over to where Techno is standing as Phil and Ranboo head inside, giving the two boys a moment. It's soft and sweet and Wilbur's heart aches at the sight of it, these two kids who have been apart for so long, finally reunited.</p><p>“You let him come?” Wilbur murmurs, not bothering to keep the surprise from his tone.</p><p>Techno watches the boys hug, and he and Wilbur both decidedly won’t bring up the fact that Tommy is on the verge of sobbing. “... yeah. You wanted to talk to him, Tommy missed him, figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.”</p><p>Wilbur leans against Techno’s shoulder. “... thanks, Techno.”</p><p>He grunts in acknowledgement, before turning to go inside. “Dinner’ll be ready in about an hour,” he calls over his shoulder. Wilbur hears the faint hums of acknowledgement from the two as he follows Techno.</p><p>Cooking is an adventure as Phil and Techno try to teach Ranboo, and Wilbur sits on (not at) the table offering his dry commentary, fiddling with and tuning his guitar. It’s entertaining and enough to distract Wilbur from the worry nagging at the back of his mind.</p><p>Tommy and Tubbo come up from the basement around the forty-five minute mark, and nobody mentions how both of them look like they’ve cried a bit.</p><p>After dinner, Wilbur settles on the couch in front of the fireplace, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged. He begins absently strumming the guitar, humming to himself. Techno sinks into the couch beside him, and Phil drags a chair closer.</p><p>“Any requests?” Wilbur asks, glancing up at the rest of them.</p><p>Tommy’s eyes light up. “What was that song you played the night we got our independence?”</p><p>Wilbur barks a laugh. “Tommy, that’s a drinking song--”</p><p>“Play it!” Tommy demands--(“You let him drink?” Phil asks. Wilbur ignores him. He didn’t, technically, but it’s more fun if he doesn’t say that.)--as he grabs Tubbo’s arm and pulls him to his feet.</p><p>So Wilbur begins to play, loud and unashamed and delighted, and Tommy and Tubbo sing along and dance around the living room, stumbling over each other and laughing. Wilbur plays a few drinking songs, then older songs from his Empire days that Phil claps along to and Techno taps his foot to.</p><p>“Can you play the anthem?” Ranboo asks, softly, after a slower, gentler song, and Wilbur hesitates.</p><p>“... yeah,” he says, managing a smile. “Yeah, I can.”</p><p>It takes him a moment to get himself together, head swimming with memories of music notes and summer nights spent singing just like this around a fire long gone. He remembers the revolutionary days, clapping and singing and laughing without a care in the world, Niki with Fundy on her shoulders and Tommy and Tubbo and Eret all howling along, off-key but not caring. They had the world at their fingertips, and Wilbur’s heart aches with the longing of it all as he begins to sing.</p><p><em>“I heard there was a special place,” </em>he all but murmurs. Tommy leans against his shoulder, humming along. <em>“Where men could go and emancipate…”</em></p><p>Tubbo sits, hands folded in his lap. <em>“... the brutality, and the tyranny, of their rulers…”</em></p><p>He smiles, soft and a touch sad, leaning back. <em>“Well this place is real, you needn’t fret.” </em>He grins a bit wider. <em>“With Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, fuck Eret!”</em></p><p>Tubbo giggles, smothering it with a hand. Tommy snickers as well, leaning more on Wilbur’s shoulder. <em>“It’s a very big and… not blown up L’manburg.”</em></p><p>“Our L’manburg,” Ranboo hums, and Wilbur looks up, blinking.</p><p>“... our L’manburg,” he agrees, softly, and Tommy and Tubbo join in.</p><p>He lets the final chord fade, and sits there in the quiet for a few moments. There is nothing but the sound of the fire crackling.</p><p>Tubbo stands. “Do you know any sea shanties?”</p><p>Wilbur looks up, and grins. “Do you?”</p><p>Tubbo’s delight is infectious.</p><p>It takes a few minutes, but then the music begins roaring like the fire in the fireplace and Tubbo is leading them along like he’s back on the deck of his father’s ship, and it’s warm and comforting and it feels a little bit like home, and a lot like healing. Tommy drags Techno into the dancing and Tubbo drags Ranboo in, and the energy lasts long into the night.</p><p>It doesn’t fix everything. There are still things to be done, people to talk to, people to apologize to, but it is certainly a start. Wilbur feels soft and very much alive as he strums his heart out in this little cabin the woods, surrounded by people he loves.</p><p>This, he thinks, is what it means to be Wilbur.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>follow me on tumblr @cacowhistle for updates and also just general dream smp content! i'm also on twitter, twitch, and youtube under the same names, although i don't post to twitter (for now).</p><p>thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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